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The evening air was cool, a pleasant change from the heat of earlier in the day that left the pavement a vague mirage of dancing heat and vaguely malleable pavement.
Now it was just chill enough that his long sleeve shirt would have been comfortable, his added overcoat was erring to the side of just a little too warm but unless he wanted to change back to his civilian garb when he'd already elected to take the 'roof' route around.

The wind picked up enough to press the long tail of his coat against him and slowed his pace down do he wouldn't trip or be tangled in his own uniform. He could half imagine the rather embarrassing conversation it would entail with his captain if he did.
His boots ground against the pebble and tar roofing as he paused to glance out over the city lights, listening to the sound of motors and wheels passing below on the streets and his mind further on in the wards and hallways of the Hospital where his room mate are partner lay unresponsive.

He felt her before he even saw her, he assumed Captain at first, but no... the feeling that crept over his skin was stronger than that and not unlike the cool wind that made his coat snap.
He turned narrowed eyes to see her trying to look dismissive of the height barb she had cast rather unprovoked. Had it not been for her aura the comment would have made him assume she was a 'normal' senshi, if they could be called normal at all.
Certainly she bore the same enormous ribbon begging to be hooked on something like the capes in 'the incredibles'. Her skirt was short and lacy if dark, but she had almost no white on her at all, and what there was seemed to be only the stains of ashes.
The roses on her red hood seemed to still be harboring the last of the ashes that had turned their petals as thin and fragile as a whisper. Something like a russian doll turned more sinister, an outer shell of something pure pulled away and replaced with a darker twisted core.

"And you are?" He asked with even and measured tones "Besides one of 'ours' obviously." He added before turning his gaze back towards the distant glimmer of the hospital and thought for a moment that he caught the distant wail of an siren carrying someone new to the already overpacked ward.

"What an astute observation..." He answered dryly and turned away from the distant hospital with a deliberate air.
"However unlikely it was that you would be correct in the direction of my gaze, I may, indeed have a partner or associate there, perhaps a family member." He put his hands into his voluminous pockets and gave her another once over. He scoured her for information and tucked and filed it away for reference.

"I would recommend against guess work in this... profession" he said with a pointed pause to add emphasis to the word; a light sort of sarcasm and yet he was serious at its core.
Like any profession one could rise through the ranks, if you were talented or well connected one could do so swiftly as well.

"Hel..." He repeated rolling the word in his mouth and finding it appropriately ashen like her roses. "How Mythic..." He dolled recalling the Norse Hel with her body half bones and rot.

"Lieutenant Zinkenite." He responded, crisp and professional, utterly millitary-light in his bearing.

Who was she, what did she want, what was her goal. The questions rolled through the back of his mind and flickered behind his eyes as he tried to judge odd things like her age, her height, the length of her stride even, but the most important question had yet to be asked, he had no idea after all, what she could do.

"No... it is not about guessing it is about answers." He said simply "If you guess you need proof, if you have proof then you get more information, the more you know about your target the more vulnerable they become."
His tone was even, perfectly civil and un-purterbed, as though he expected that people would rush in with little thought.
"You might also take to heart that sometimes the removal or loss of a person is a boon, a blessing to the world rather than a curse, though that is more semantics and perspective."

His nose crinkled just a touch at the smell of the ashes, and he brushed some off his cheek where the almost white grey of it left a curiously black smear as they were want to do.

"What do you -want-" he finally asked pointedly, a moments flair of temper behind stormy eyes that flickered and faded like lightning and was gone.

His lip curled slightly as she approached him but he gave no ground at the moment.
"So long as you do not take the liberty of TOUCHING me," he said with a dagger sharp edge to his voice.

"Then yes, I want to know what it is you think you want of me Senshi." He spoke the last word like a title, a reminder that while she was one of 'theirs' she was still of the 'ilk' of those they fought.

"And you may tell me what you are senshi OF if you know it was well, since every one of you seems to claim some domain"

"You -are- a senshi and remain so, you simply fight for US now rather than them." He said bluntly and as closed off as fort knox once more despite his previously marked irritation at her proximity.

"If, I believed your only goal was to say hello, then no there would be nothing at all of consequence or mind with it." He said in crisp measured tone as his heels shifted against the gritty tarmac.
He disliked the sensation of it, uneven under his boots and he suspected treacherous, though were he to calculate he expected it far worse for her with those heels.

"But, I do not believe that is the only reason, it seldom is. People, as a rule 'want', and so I wish to know what it is YOU want. It solves a -great- deal of run around in the long run. Nothing is more ridiculous than a constantly maintained PRETENSE of not wanting when user-ship is the ultimate goal."

"Talking... is a want." he stated with finality. "You wanted distraction, entertainment, diversion." He glanced over her slumping shoulders with a suspicious and studious glare that would have done the strictly Literary Sherlock Holmes proud, not of course to be confused with the old radio broadcasts that were distinctly not written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

"Very well..." He relented "Speak." though it was said in such a manner that said he was on no uncertain terms humoring the young woman.